


The Poet and his Son

by bertyose



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Smp, Evil dream, Gen, He tries so hard, Jschlatt is Evil, L’manberg, Magic, Small Violence, War, and dream i guess, but he fails, dream smp au, explores the years of wilbur trying to protect fundy from danger, hahahah, mention of violence, mythical AU, mythical creatures, old-ish kind of i guess, theres humans and then non humans, wilbur tries to be a good dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertyose/pseuds/bertyose
Summary: ((mythical dream smp au))There once was a poet who found himself lost in the world. He no longer had a purpose, everything he was fighting for in the beginning felt useless. he was alone. so utterly alone. however this factor caused a goddess to be curious. what would happen if she gave this lone man a child who was already doomed to die?---in which wilbur abruptly becomes a father, throughout the next years he struggles on how to protect his son from a danger that is destined to come.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 26
Kudos: 137





	1. the wail in the woods

for the first time in his life, wilbur is unsure. 

the boy never liked thinking things through too much. he would just speak his mind and go ahead with his plans. sure, they often lead him into pits of trouble but it meant he never had the chance to second guess himself. until right now. 

the poet stopped in his tracks, leaning his spare arm on a tree close by. the village was roughly 15 minutes away from here but was this really the right thing to do? the moment he walks in that area means no turning back. whats done is done, he would have to live like this for years to come. yes, he was ordered to live this way by a goddess but is it really fair? 

a gurgle escaped from the bundle in wilburs arm. the babe was so small. so, so small. he’s never seen a thing this tiny before. every bone in his body told him to protect the small child by any means necessary. yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to. he knew how much danger the young kit was already in. how cruel, he thought, how cruel to create a life that would only live to quickly meet a gruesome end. the gods of this earth were so truly cruel. 

he shifted the babe from one arm to the other, eyes tracing over all of his facial features. the poet knew what he had to do to be “kind”. the years spent with schlatt showed him what the ram did to creatures like the kit. any fate was better than that. 

wide eyes suddenly creeped open. eyelashes blinking repeatedly. a small breath left wilbur’s nose as he uncontrollably smiled at the waking babe. for a moment everything was okay again. the fox murmured and the poet grinned. everything is going to be fine, expect... it isnt. 

all thoughts came crashing back down and the mans worries festered on. the child was better off not having to live in a gross world like this. what life would it be if he had to constantly look over his shoulder? and wilbur wouldn’t be able to forgive himself when schlatt does finally find the boy. nothing good would ever come out of this and that was the sad fate he had to face. he had to, for the sake of the child, for the sake of his own sanity. he had to, otherwise... otherwise..- 

a shriek ripped through the air, anchoring the poet back to reality. tears threatened to fall as the young fox cried out. wilbur pulled the kit close to his chest, hushing soft whispers into his ears. he gently shook the child, rubbing a circular motion on his back. every muscle moved in an instant, no thoughts having to be spared. he moved in an instinct, and before he knew it the cries simmered to a soft growl. 

shit. there was something so human about the way the child cried. as if he was protesting, trying to put his own piece of mind in. or maybe he is just a small baby. a young, sweet, innocent child who shouldn’t be out in the cold for this long. this whole situation sucked. and wilbur was only making it worse. he stared down at the sleeping babe in his arms. he stared until his vision became blurry. until tears streamed down his icy cheeks. until he pulled his face into the bundle in his arms, sobbing about the cruel thoughts that once plagued his mind. 

in that moment wilbur no longer cared if schlatt caught wind of the young kit. he dared him and anyone to step one foot closer to the babe. because in that instance he swore he’d protect the child no matter what. he’d be safe as long as he was in his arms. as long as the poet had his son everything was going to be okay


	2. walls inked with fear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it has been around 6 months now, since when Wilbur first obtained Fundy. the two have become close, they are a family now. Wil needs to look after his son, he needs to save him. because if he doesnt, he doesnt know what he will do..

birds celebrate the rising sun as a man grudges on. he takes a moment to stop pushing a beaten wagon to tuck stray strands of hair away in his hat. the air is crisp and the woods is silent. too silent. 

raggedy wheels squeal back into life as the poet roars into action. the day is new, time to find some breakfast and “lucky customers”. wilbur’s itinerary of the day was already set in stone, his plan: arrive in the next village, “find” some purses and money, get some food for him and the child, dont get caught. it was simple and easy to execute. well, somewhat easy. 

the brunettes eyes fell down to the contents of the wagon. everything inside was what made up his wonderful “home”. laying there was all of his valuables, all bundled up together. and there in the middle, tucked away from harm, laid the one thing that was keeping him sane. the only thing that was worth living for. his precious son. 

the child was tangled in blankets and jumpers, lost in the world of his sweet dreams. every time wilbur set his gaze on his son all he could feel was hope. all dark whispers that crept in his mind disappeared for a short moment, leaving peace at last. wilbur feels contempt with his son. for a short moment at least. 

he hurrid on through the sleeping woods, weaving in and out of the trees. as the sun got higher the poet reached the village. the focused man has been awake since when the skies bled black to yellow to blue. he never slept anymore. and those times when he’s lying awake on the cold, cold floor is when those doubts come racing back. he had to keep busy. he had to. 

the second he wondered in the town the poet wove the wagon towards a wiltering fountain. patterns of mermaids danced along the marble and wilbur took a mental note to show his son later. the boy still slept. which wasn’t a suprise, it was around 7 now so he still had another hour. 

stuffing his shivering hands into his ragged pockets, wilbur collapsed onto the bench. he waited until life poured out onto the streets. now he really needed a better plan of action. 

first thing first, how is the sleep deprived man going to obtain todays salary? 

tricking people really only worked in the evenings with drunk old men, he couldn’t do that now. 

straight up pick pocketing is effective but dangerous. he couldn’t afford being caught anymore. 

so that left two options. to go a day without any food or to sing a little song. wilbur had a love-hate relationship with his performances. he loves his ability, honestly thinking its one of the coolest and important ones out there, but it was exhausting. it drains every cell from his bones, making his mind soft and airborne. he becomes dizzy, oblivious to whats around him. it works well but it weakens the man. however one small peek at the child and wilbur knows what road he has to travel down. they cant go through another day hungry, they cant. 

so he sighs and waits. leaning down on the stone bench, keeping eagle eyes on the sleeping kit. he waits until bubbles of people erupt onto the streets. he waits with his banjo in his grasps, prying out a faithful victim. he waits until an important looking human beelines towards the fountain, triggering wilbur to make his first move. 

like ripples in a pond, the poets fingers glide across the instrument. a soft melody dances into the air, followed by a poem, sung of war, hate, love and peace. the song is soft and beautiful. tranquillising and calm. wilbur’s eyes locks onto the mans own pair. they are wide and spacey, no sign of life to be seen. he’s only recently gotten used to the cursed faces. they would haunt his dreams, plague his thoughts, but now something much worse took its place.

a hand slithered above a spare spot on the bench, dropped a pouch which resembled a purse, and left. the father watched the man walk off yet his fingers kept gliding. his throat stopped moving but the instrument wouldn’t stop playing. the sweet tunes kept dancing, driving the poor man insane. his bones were tired, his mind was shattered yet something in his body screamed to kept playing. it wouldn’t give up on the power. on the music. on the- 

“pa?” a gurgle whispered and the poet’s body stopped. “fundy!” a tired voice replied, giving a half grin to the boy. again, the kit had pulled the man back into reality, something he was deeply grateful for. if it wasn’t for his son his body would of kept playing until he collapsed into exhaustion. 

“sorry, did i wake you bud?” he knew it really didn’t matter as it was time for the child to wake up anyways, but the brunette enjoyed the looks the fox gave. he knotted his eyebrows in confusion, thinking of the best answer before moving his head in a circular motion, nodding and shaking his head at the same time.

he smiled in reply, reaching over to shake the child’s hair, steering way away from his orange ears. the boy squirmed playfully, letting a giggle escape from his lips. wil pushed the tiredness that crept into his eyes away, hoisting fundy out of the entanglement and placing him on his feet by his side. they had money and thats all that mattered. they could survive for a little longer now. 

crowds grew as the parent and his child travelled around the town. fundy skipped by the wagon, letting his hand brush against the passing walls. they reached the bakery and purchased their meals for the day, wilbur getting a bag of fresh rolls, letting fundy pick out his breakfast. he wasn’t surprised when the auburn haired kid pointed gingerly at the berry tart. it technically wasn’t breakfast but wil didn’t mind, as long as his son smiled. 

after their visit to the shop they headed back into the cold. wind ripped at their coats, picking at the holes which scattered around. fundy cringed at his fathers side, irritated at the breeze but didn’t make a fuss. his son was good, he never moaned or fussed about things. wil knew this wasn’t normal for a.. (he looked around three or four now?), year old but that wasn’t something he was concerned about. he was too caught up on surviving, for now thats the only thing that matters. 

they were about to walk past another alleyway until something caught the poets eyes. he stopped in his tracks, quickly glancing down to the day dreaming fox. “hey bud?, why wont you sit by the wagon and eat your food? pa needs to look at something real quick..” he slurred, sending a short grin to the nodding boy. as his son slipped into the warmth of the wagon he wondered towards the alleyway. 

messily littering the walls was tons and tons of papers. posters. wanted posters more precisely. and there, in the midst of dozens of faces, laid his own.. shit. 

tucked away in the corner of each papers stood the stamp of schlatts approval. wilbur knew how paranoid the man was. he knew he was constantly searching for a large amount of people. and he knew what he did to when he has once captured his pray. 

in unexpected moments like these wil had no idea on what to do. he likes to prepare, to think of situations that could happen. not once did he think about the possibility of schlatt actively looking for him. he should of, but he didn’t. why didn’t he? 

if he comes, when he comes whats going to happen? fundys going to be.. fundy..-   
his eyes dropped towards his son, his sweet, sweet son. in one swift movement wilbur swooped up the boy, holding him close in his arms, never wanting to let him go. he didn’t complain, he was a good kid. he was too good for him, for this life. fundy didn’t deserve to be in this danger. 

they weren’t safe anymore, they have to keep moving. for fundys sake, they can never stop moving. for wilburs sanity, he had to keep fundy safe. so the poet, his son and the rusted wagon slithered back into the safety of the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, i hope you enjoyed! im sorry if stuff doesnt make sense, i promise it will make sense soon as the story progresses! 
> 
> also heres some backstories to wilbur’s and fundy’s character in my mythical au to make things make more sense: 
> 
> \- all creatures have their own abilities, wilbur is apart of the “poets” species and their abilities is to basically control people through song/soft melodies. they can also put people to sleep + more. however their power affects them a lot, their bodies becomes drained and very tired. 
> 
> \- fundy is apart of the shapeshifters. his species is endangered though because r e a s o n s. they are being hunted down by schlatt which isnt too good. shapeshifters age weirdly, for the first 5 years of their life they age very quickly (for every human year they age 5 years). this carries on until they become around 20, then they just age like normal people. fundy can shapeshift from human form to fox form, shapeshifters “true” forms are being in between animal and human.


	3. campfire tales and winter walks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fundy looks to be six now? or maybe seven..? the boys wonder on. “arguments” rise but are quickly sung away. it’s hard not having a safe place to stay but they need to keep moving. they have to keep moving. so wilbur can keep his precious son safe.

stars glitter as the world sleeps. nightfall has greeted the pair again. 

they’re halfway into their second year together now, the young fox acting older than ever. he beamed up towards his father, unable to hide his hopeful grin. “pa..?” the boy started. “ya got a lot of riches today, huh?” 

his father, covered in dirt and grime, attempted to match fundy’s smile. he let his hands lay flat on the logs they purched on, pushing some of his weight onto his arms.

“mayybee-“ the man smirked. picking on drunk men always worked in his favour. their senses were dulled and easier to handle with. which was why pickpocketing outside bars was pratically a gold mine. 

“why do you ask, son?” he quickly followed, tugging at the navy blue scarf that slithered around his neck. the cold suddenly picked up, summer had officially died. this instantly caused wilburs mind to scream red flags at himself. this wasn’t good. don’t you remember what happened last winter? fundys a lot older now, he can handle things better now.. he’s a good kid. he’ll be okay this time.. 

wilbur watches as his sons face wriggles around. he chews on his fists, trying to get his thoughts straight. “well..-“ the voice croaks, dark brown eyes staring deep into the roaring flames. “i was just thinkin’. “ 

he sure was taking his time, but the poet chose not to rush the boy. instead he carried on watching. eyes glancing over each inch of his body, checking for any new bruises or scratches, yet there was none. his son was safe for now. 

“ya know, maybe could we... we could sleep on a proper, real bed?” ah. so thats why he took so long to blurt his words out. he knew what the answer would be. 

“fundy..” the man sighed, letting his right hand drop on the kids shoulder. they had this conversation before. it would start different ways but it always lead to the same thing. frankly, wilbur was tired of it. he was tired of saying the same thing over and over again. but the kit will understand one day. he has to. “what did i say before fundy? you cannot-“ 

“i know, i know. i know it’s dangerous and such but one day wont hurt? just one night?” 

“one night would lead to two nights which would lead to one week, a month, a year.. i’m sorry bud, but we cannot ri-“ 

“i promise it would only be one night!” the child begged, switching his body into his father’s direction, burning pleading eyes into his own. “we can just spend one night and then leave, we will go back to the woods again after just please one night!” 

“fundy, i already told you-“ 

“please!, i’ll be extra, extra good! i wont be annoying and.. and i wont talk as much! i wont... i wont..” 

“kid. listen to me now, we cannot-“ 

“i just want to sleep on a bed in a room! it’s not fair that we sleep in the woods. it’s not fair! other kids dont sleep on the floor in the cold!” 

“i did kid, now let me talk. we-“ 

“ it’s- it’s not fair!! you’re not fair, i want to-“

“fundy!” his voice sliced through the air, attacking a certain fox. he hated this. he hated acting this way, he hated shouting at the child. he hated the sad, sad look on his sons face. god, why did it always have to come down to this. 

the man sighed, rubbing more dirt into his face. he was too tired for this. the poet wrapped his arm around fundy’s side, tugging him close to his own body. the shapeshifter leant against his fathers side, eyebrows knotted as he stared into the dying out flames. 

“fundy.. look, i’ve told you before, it’s much safer staying out here in the woods. i know it’s not nice and i know it’s not fair but we have to. we have to do this... okay?” 

he waited a moment, letting the silence sink its teeth in. moonlight broke through the twisted trees, revealing small patches of light to be littered around them. this life wasn’t comfortable but wilbur sure felt a lot safer here.

wilbur pattered fundys shoulders, leading him upwards from the rotting log. “bed time” he announced, letting fundy drop onto their makeshift “beds”. the mans hands glided across fundys forehead, pushing back dirt-ridden, auburn hair. “sweet dreams, son” muttered the father, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head. 

no more words escaped from the boy, that was fine though. he was upset and deserved to be. one last sigh left wilburs mouth as he collapsed back onto the log. he was exhausted, his body was screaming for sleep. yet his hands had different plans, as they wrapped around a surprisingly well kept instrument. fingers danced as tunes erupted. sweet melodies filled the air, slinking over to a young child. the tunes suffocated and plagued, relaxed and tranquillised. and wilbur played, strumming all of the bad memories away. lifting arguments, cleaning the past. he erased it all with the flick of his hands. 

as quickly as it started the maddness stopped. all recent melodies and memories were no where to be seen. thoughts wirled around his mind as the darkness hugged his body, dragging him into a sleep of pain and nightmares. 

—- 

morning dew lingered in the air, the next day finally showed its face. twigs exploded under the pairs feet as they twisted through the trees, ready to carry on their pointless journeys. 

a clearing was revealed past the whispering woods, waves and waves of barley fields which galloped off into the distance. a wilting wooden sign told the two that the nearest town was 5 miles away. five miles away.. 

wilbur dragged his fingers across his forehead, his mind quickly drifting off to thought before snapping back again. he reached his hand out to his son who carefully took it. and they were off again. back onto the winding roads which went on forever. 

fundy skipped by his fathers side, hair swaying with the wind and eyes excitedly scanning over the new scenery. all memories of last night being forgotten. it was a strange feeling, whenever the kit would think of the night before his mind became hazy, fog clouding his brain. however he didnt put much thought into it, this happened so much that the boy just assumed it was normal.

as a sudden burst of energy washed over the child, fundy let go of his fathers hand and spun around, running backwards to face him with a toothy grin. 

“hey pa, watch this!!” the fox chimed, pacing back a few steps to create some space. 

wilbur slugged on, replying with a short nod. the man looked awful, black heavy caterpillars hibernated under his lifeless eyes. every ounce of energy has been sucked away from his muscles, the man needed to sleep. he needed it, but he didn’t deserve to. he had to deal with the punishment of stealing memories. it was the least he could do. 

fundy soon quickly stopped in his tracks, his eyes blinking shut. he licked his cherry lips, eyebrows locked in concentration. with a disturbing sound, limbs started to mold into a shorter shape, sockets popping and fur growing. the childs body started to mutate, rolling into different shapes before finally settling down. the process seemed painful by onlookers but the boy made no sound of discomfort. he gruesomely morphed into a new body.. an animals body.. a foxes body..? 

the kit yipped playfully at a starstruck man, seemingly lost for words. “f-fundy..?” wilbur croaked, crouching down to a rolling animal. he’s seen his son change a fee of his limbs into a foxes from time to time. just the odd arm or toes. but never this. he’s never seen the whole body click into a new shape. 

fundy rubbed his face against his dad’s leg, trying to confirm to the questionable tone. the poets face lit up, a sudden grin of pure joy filled his lips. he carefully let his hands scoop up the young fox, brining him close to his chest and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “my son! oh my sweet son, you truly amaze me! you’re wonderful fundy!” 

the fox yapped, his ears twitching and legs kicking as the body twisted back into the small child. the boy beamed proudly up at his father, wrapping his arms around his neck as wilbur stood with the kit in his arms. 

they hurried back to their walk, fundy chattering away, explaining every small detail of the stunt he just pulled off. wilbur nodded every now and then, lost in puzzling thoughts. 

he finally interrupted the talkative child, giving his hand a small squeeze. “heya fundy?, i have something for you to do, it’s only for big boys but i think you’re ready, kid” 

the shapeshifters ears stood up in curiosity, bowing his head up towards his dad. “what is it pa?” 

“well, are you sure you’re big enough fundy?” 

“mhm, yep! i’m so very big n’ strong, pa!” 

the poet chuckled, his eyes trained forwards. “alright, well if you insist..” without thinking his right hand rested on his neck, pondering carefully on how he would chose his next words. “well.. i was just thinking, that trick you just did was very cool and could be used for a lot of important things..” 

“like what?” questioned the boy 

“well, like.. like sneaking around places, i bet you’d be very good at that!” fundy nodded eagerly, humming in agreement. “heh, well i also bet you’d be amazing at running, right?” 

“ya-huh! i would run super fast!”excitement laced the foxes voice, soaking in every word that came out of his fathers mouth. 

“yeah.. so fundy, using your new super cool trick, you’d be amazing at taking things, right?” 

his continuous nodding came to an end, unsurety suddenly clogging his mind. he wanted so badly to show off how brave he was, to make his dad so proud. but he seemed unsure. 

“i’ll be with you the whole time fundy, i’ll make sure nobody hurts you, plus i’d never, ever purposely put you in a lot of danger, you know that right?” the poet pestered on, desperateness inked in his voice. somewhere inside of him screamed at the poet to stop. to apologise. to hug his son. to protect him. yet, he knew this wasn’t dangerous. it wasn’t. wilbur would always be by his sons side, they just need to survive. and to survive they need money, this is the only way. fundy being a fox could help them get money safer. so this wasn’t dangerous.. it just wasn’t. right? 

finally buildings licked the horizon, sending a small sense of joy to the boys and their starving stomachs. “okay pa..” replied a small voice, squeezing his fathers hand tightly. “i will do it!” 

wilbur stopped one moment to crouch to his sons height. he pinched his cheek lovingly, beaming at the kit. “that’s my little champion”. and then he set off again, roaring into motion. explaining every small detail of his plan as they trampled on towards the village. 

—- 

“ready son?” 

wilbur stood awkwardly in the entrance of an isolated alleyway, ruffling the auburn hair of the child. he slightly shook his head away in protest of his fathers hand, a giggle shortly following after. wilbur took his silence as a yes, so he took one step back sending a quick thumbs up. 

bones crunched and limbs twisted. the awful image came roaring back into view. it really was a terrible process, but still, there was no cries of pain. skin shedded into fur as a tiny fox soon appeared. his nose itched, large brown eyes laying on his fathers. fundy’s eyes.. those were fundy’s eyes. 

“right, remember what i told you funds? you gotta’ stick to the rules, okay?” the young kit sent a yip as a reply, letting a small amount of reassurance to reside in wil. it’s going to be okay.. this will be okay. “find that family who i pointed out to you earlier, okay? grab something then come straight back here. they were at the pond close by so it wont take you too long.. dont take too long, okay fundy? you gotta’ be quick!” 

wilbur sighed heavily, doubts slowly staining his mind. he sent a quick nod to the boy, watching him scatter off into the main road. he will be fine.. fundy will be fine. he’s a good kid, he will do as wilbur said and will be fine. he will.. he will. 

time couldn’t of gone any slower. as every second blinked on by the man became deeper snd deeper in thought. anxiety clawed at his through, kicked at his stomach. it traveled in storms inside the man, making him want to crash on out into the road, searching for his precious son. but he had to wait. he had to be patient. he needed to trust fundy because he could do this. his son is smart, he can do it. 

padded footsteps finally erupted into the air as a young fox shuffled into view. brick-red fur rustled in the wind, the kits mouth opening to let an object crash onto the ground. wilbur fell onto his knees, his eyes booming with pride as he scooped up the transforming child. now a boy, fundy copied his fathers gleeful grin, throwing his arms excitedly around his neck. 

“my son! oh my son, you did it! i’m so proud of you” the poet murmured, leaning in to the long embrace. his hazel eyes dropped down in curiosity as he listened to the kit’s sensationalised story. confusion quickly knotted his brows as he stared at the object that clearly wasn’t a purse. a ragged doll with ginger bunches. to be fair, the man never said anything about valuable, he just told the kid to get something and get it fast. plus this was his first time, a practice run. they would perfect later on a different day. today wasn’t the day. 

“-and so i took the doll by the pram! it must’ve fall’n out, pa! so i just took it and ran and ran like you said!” he beamed triumphantly, gripping wilbur away from his thoughts. the man gave the kit one more squeeze, placing him on the floor as he stood up. “you’re a very good boy, fundy. come on, lets get some bread then we’ll head on home.” 

home.. what was home. the woods were safe but they would never be “home”. wilbur had always feared fundy wouldn’t ever get a home. a place of familiarity, of comfort, of warmth and love. but really, you dont need four walls for that. no.. as long as the poet had his son everything would be okay. everything will just be completely fine..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it wasnt clear, everytime fundy and wilbur get into even the smallest of arguments, wil gets ride of fundys memories because he hates to think that fundy would ever think wilbur hates him. he hates arguing with fundy too, he feels guilty. but he feels even more guilty onces he takes his memories away.. 
> 
> anywho, i hoped you enjoyed! i’m sorry i took longer with this chapter, i kept getting distracted, whoops. next chapter will have some good ol’ action so stay tuned! also we will be getting into the smp lore very very soon ;) 
> 
> thank you so much for reading, have a wonderful day!!


	4. the songs of lies and comfort.

river water spat at the males legs, colliding into the stones and banks. a constant hum of exploding water sat in the air. suns shined and everything seemed fine. 

wilbur tucked knotted hair into the safety of his hat, letting his fingers slink back into the stream. he was sat on the rivers edge, exhaustedly slumped over his legs. these past two and a half years have been nothing but the same. the same, painful routine that has no end. but it was necessary. as long as fundy was with wilbur taking all of these precautions were worth it. 

the poets chin sat neatly on his knees, as golden brown eyes fell onto the stream. morning sunlight danced on the waters surface, mesmerising the young man. everything seemed so calm in the mornings. no loud noises plagued his mind. however, it was in the quiet where the mans mind inked with intrusive thoughts. secrets whispered and doubts formed. “he’s not safe with you..”, they’d snicker. “he will never be safe with you.” 

maybe his mind was right? maybe the child would be far better off on his own. although the man could never allow it to happen. maybe it was selfish?, maybe it was fear? the poet would never let his son be taken away from him. not in a million of years.

the mans aching body instantly shot up, sudden thought of his son clouding his mind. where was the boy? wilbur tucked the end of his scarf behind his battered jacket, letting the wind drag his body towards the shade in the woods. spirits whispered with the leaves, singing a small song of hope and love. the mans hands cupped around his own mouth, shouting out to the fox. “fundy-... FUNDY!?-“ 

the only response he got was the wailing of birds, so the man carried on searching. where was he? he was specifically told not to wonder far, plus fundy knows better than anything to always stay near his father. so where was it where he went? the evil thought of schlatt crept into wilburs mind, however he swept it to the side as quickly as it came, deeming the thought to be impossible. because no way schlatt had found him.. right..? 

the brunette pushed deeper into the woods, head wiping in all directions as he searched. he had to be close. his son had to be near by. he couldnt of gone too far the woods is thick and hard to navigate through. so where did he go? his raspy voice pierced through the trees once more, calling out for the child. but it was useless, as he received no reply. 

“for fuc-, fundy! FUNDY! come out ‘ere-“. wilbur almost collided straight into a tree, his dark eyes glued onto a distant shadow.there, huddling for warmth sat the wanted boy, his oval eyes tightly shut. “fundy! did you not hear me shout for you? you- i told you not to wonder too far! where have you be-“

“..huh?” the kit replied sluggishly, eyes abruptly snapping open, landing eagerly on his father. with one swift movement the boy was up on his feet, a recent growth spurt being revealed, no longer seen too short for his age. “m’ was just lookin’ at the sky, pa! i didnt go far, i stayed close like you said..”

wilburs eyebrows knotted into a frown, thought clouding his mind. “well why didnt you reply to me then? i called for you multiple times fundy!”

“mm..” the boy hummed questionably, animatedly shrugging his shoulders. “ i dunno. just didnt hear ya-“ 

the poets sigh cut through his sons words, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. annoyance clearly formed in his tone now. “dont be silly fundy, you’re a fox for chri-“ he quickly stopped himself, eyes falling onto the other as his hands slinked onto his shoulders. “look.. fundy, you have to pay more attention, okay? when you’re alone you have to stay aware, you cant be day dreaming like that” 

he stopped for a moment, letting the words sink in before carrying on. “you cant afford to be putting your gaurd down when your all by youself! if you keep failing to do so then you wont ever be leaving my side fundy, you hear me?” he needs to stay safe

fundys head rolled down downwards the ground, eyes picking apart the dirt and sticks before muttering under his breath. “well how comes i’m constantly separated from you in the villages?” 

“..huh?” 

“ ‘m always on my own. even though you said villages are more dangerous than the forest! you always say that!” the boys voice became louder, accusation seeping through. 

“yes, but thats why-“ 

“ ‘m always on my own there! stealing stuff for you! always!” fundys head whipped upwards, eyes boring into his fathers, anger slowly leaking. he was tired. so, so tired of living like this. living in fear of something his father would never reveal. at this point, the boy started to theorise that it was just all in his head. 

“that’s different fundy, would you rather us scavenge for berries and mushrooms from the woods? we need money for food and new clothes, you’re constantly growing so-“ 

“but its always me! on my own! you say we always have to stick together but you let me steal on my own in one of the ‘dangerous places’! it doesnt make sense!” 

wilbur head enough of this. conversations like these irritated him. he couldn’t blame the kid though, it was a stupid situation. but he had enough of talking and desperately wanted to end it. “its just safer that way fundy, i promise yo-“ 

“that doesn’t make any sense! you never make any-“ 

wilburs hand fell onto fundys back, lightly pushing him forwards as he started to walk. “we’re leaving.” and he left the conversation there, unwilling to carry it on. he was his dad. he knew what he had to do to keep his child safe. child. fundy was just a child. he didn’t understand the cruel world he fell victim to and thats fine. wilbur did everything in his power to try to shield his son from this world. to protect him. to keep him safe. safe.. for the sake of wilburs sanity fundy had to keep safe. but was he safe with wilbur.. was he? was he..? 

silence lingered for a little longer, as dangerous thoughts ate at wilburs mind. infesting his brain. fundy wore a similar frown as his father, lost in his own state of thought. the boys progressed through trees, stumbling over rocks and headed towards the path. the path which lead to their next “customer”. 

“i wont do it today” 

the foxes voice finally broke through. his words cut at wilburs heart but he ignored it, acting unfazed. his empty eyes stared on fowards, his hand on fundys back falling. “you will..” 

“i wont! i wont steal for yo-“ 

“you will do as i say and thats final. look at me kid” the two stopped moving and the adult turned to his so , crouching down to his height to look straight into his eyes. “look.. fundy, i care for you so, so much, you know that right? i would never let any harm come to you so i just ask for you to listen to me, alright? you listen to me and i promise things will get better. i promise you..” 

silence fell once more. guilt wrapped around the poets throat but chose not to feed into it. instead he wrapped his arms around his sons body, giving an over-due hug before carrying on his travels. he always thought things would get easier as fundy grew older but they only got worse. his boy would understand one day though. he has to, and when he does maybe things wont be as bad anymore.. 

—- 

their routine was repetitive. boring and repetitive. but it kept them safe. 

wilbur guided the boy towards the town centre, ducking behind the shadow of a near by home. the open space was drowning with people, huddling over carts and stands which added to the market. it was a loud and chaotic scene, a perfect place for an animal to slip into unnoticed. 

“right.. once you’re done you gotta follow the road back to the entrance of the town to meet me, okay?” the adults hands dropped to his sons collar, tucking in the fading scarf which he let borrow. the fox defeatedly gave a small nod and nothing else, his eyes rolling back as his body gruesomely twisted into a shape of an animal. 

the poet watched. he watched as his son slipped away, skidding off into the feet of oblivious humans. his throat burned from the missed opportunity that just took place. that was his chance to say sorry. his chance to apologise. his chance to take blame and tell his son that he loved him. but he didn’t. there will always be another time, the young man promised. there will be.. 

the wind started pinching the skin of the brunette as he made his way down the path. stones skipped across the path, colliding into other pieces of nature. as he walked past the last buildings he soon stopped, eyes following the path which danced across the fields and hills, never inching near the towering trees. the humans didn’t dare to go into the woods, which was good because it didn’t belong to them. the woods wasn’t theirs. 

the mans gaze stayed glued onto the picturesque scenery in front, waiting patiently for the other. a panicking voice soon ripped the poet from his daze, eyes falling onto a new male whose cheeks were pink and clearly out of breath. he stuttered on his words, panting between each one. “h-h.. hes- comimg..” 

wilburs facial expression stayed blank, no emotion creeping onto his face as he stares with confusing. “who..?” 

“him.. you know..- the one.. schlatt-“ the last words plunged wilburs body into pools of ice, drowning him. suffocating him. what did he just say? “h-he’s been making his rounds.. ya know? travelling from village to village- and.. i need to warn people, let them prepare s-“ 

the last half of the sentance was cut, left unknown in the air as wilbur skated down the path. his legs moved quickly, carrying the body back to the centre. schlatt was looking for him. schlatt was looking for him. schlatt was looking for him. schlatt was looking for him. fuck. 

crowds grew and desruptive yells lingered in the air. a large hand anchored a twelve year old boy onto his feet. 

_ schlatt was coming. he’s coming for you. for you. he’s coming to get you.  _

the boy was squirming and spitting, shouting back words. his face was hidden, back facing wilbur. but he couldnt really see, nor hear. venomous words inked his mind, shouting, screaming, crying, yelling. it was all too loud. 

_ he’s coming for you. he’s coming, he’s on his way. not safe. not safe yet, still not safe. safe. he’s coming for you- what about the boy? not safe- coming.. he’s coming.  _

the figure became clearer. messy auburn hair poking in different directions. an old brown jacket, two sizes too big, drooped around the small frame. that was him. his boy. his son. his sweet, sweet son who he has sworn to protect, but.. he’s.. caught? the kit kept struggling to get free, yelping as angry faces surrounded him from all directions. he was hidden by the crowd, all signs of his animal nature gone too. he was.. safe? 

wilbur knew what schlatt was here for. every bone and fibre in his body screamed at him, chanting how he’s only here for him. how stupid could he be? or was it just pure selfishness? as long as fundy was by wilburs side he’d never be safe. every moment they spent together was a danger on fundys life. the stone-hearted ram was after wilbur, not his son . he didnt even know of his existence.

the world finally clicked to a stop. voices disappearing and fog clearing. soft tunes replaced the harsh whispers, everything finally made sense. because the solution was simple. so, so simple. as long as wilbur stayed clear from the child his son would finally be safe. oh, so safe. it pained the man though, it hurt so much. he loved his boy dearly, but he couldn’t be selfish any longer. for fundys sake. 

so the poet walked on, snaking off to the comfort of the woods. leaving his son in the tight grips of livid villagers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapters quite bad and rushed but i was struggling to write it for a long time and really wanted to move on so, yeahh here it is. the next chapters will be set in dream smp and l’manburg now so, yippeee. im excited to start writing them! 
> 
> im really sorry if any of this is confusing, if you have any questions just let me know in the comments! :)) 
> 
> also, wilbur is trying.. he’s trying a lot. he has been thinking for a long time about if fundy is safer with or without him and so this last moment basically pushed him into finally deciding that yes, he’s far better off on his own. is this true? who knows ;)

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh i hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> this story is all from my mythical dream smp au, so if you want to find more info about it check out my tumblr account, my @ is bertyose ! :)) 
> 
> anyways, the next chapters will follow the years of wilbur trying (and failing) to protect his son,,


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